


Thunderstorms Come Nightly

by ComeHitherAshes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (surprise!), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behaviour, Power Dynamics, Snarling and Sex, Switching, ahahastopme, if you know know what I mean, it goes both ways though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos' anger is a fine-tuned thing, intricate like a bomb and just as deadly, so it's a good thing that Porthos has always been good with his hands and famed for thinking on his feet - and infamous off of them.</p><p>AKA, the opposite of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2369834/chapters/5233178">Command and Conkers</a> and Porthos has a love of Athos' wrists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorms Come Nightly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misanthropiclycanthrope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/gifts).



> A belated birthday present for the wonderful [misanthropiclycanthrope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/) \- who was also my 750th comment and my brilliant co-captain of this ship! Porthathos because it's our jam and canon-era because it's theirs; happy birthday, my dear!
> 
> This switched about three-thousand times; they're stubborn bastards, but beloved ones. (Also, Athos, forgive me for attributing this poem to you, but you are so very delicate and deadly, and shatter so beautifully under Porthos' touch.)

> She was beautifully, delicately made,  
>  So small, so unafraid,  
>  Till the bomb came.  
>  Bombs are the same,  
>  Beautifully, delicately made.  
>  ― C.S. Lewis,  _'Epigrams and Epitaphs'_

Athos was furious, but like a storm in a bottle he was contained. Inside, he raged, electric fire lashed and whipped like a rider astride a horse of thunder, but the only outward indication he gave was a slight tilt of his head.

"Very well."

After receiving a careful look and a dismissive nod, Athos stepped lightly down the stairs from the captain's office, focused entirely on one single thought.

_I need a drink._

Musketeers scattered in front of him, parted like grass before the wind, and he was given freedom of the yard as he strode into the stables.

He ignored the broad figure leaning against his horse's bay.

Athos had to wonder though, had Porthos headed here immediately after Treville had called for a meet, did he know him so well that he could predict his movements before he even thought of them?

Athos scowled when he knew what the answer was.

As always, the low timbre of Porthos' voice managed to hit the top of his spine and trickle downwards like warm water, the muscles in his stomach tensing with the effort not to shiver. "Went well then?"

"As well as could be expected," Athos replied tersely, determined to saddle his horse and leave as quickly as possible, leave Porthos' infuriatingly  _knowing_ expression in his dust. When his hand met empty air, he stopped, jaw tightening as his palm fell to his rapier. "Where is my saddle?"

"Serge 'as it, somethin' 'bout a nick in the leather." Porthos' tone changed from tactical to taunting, "You should take better care 'f it."

Athos debated throwing something at Porthos' over-large head, possibly even drawing his weapon and challenging the interfering ignoramus for involving himself in something that had nothing to do with him.

And with such a thinly-veiled attempt at keeping him here, too.

Athos' reply was filled with the flash of fire. "I don't need you for this."

There was a shrug, Athos could see it out of the corner of his eye, a smooth roll of strong shoulders in a dust-filled beam of sunlight through the high window, shoulders that still bore his mark from the night before. "You always need me."

Athos' eyelid twitched.

He whirled and left the way he came, only to find the door shut in front of him and Porthos in his way, arms crossed but stance loose, as unyielding as the wooden bar that fell into place and locked them inside.

Athos ignored it, focusing on the sting of his anger, and reached for the handle.

Porthos' voice took on a warning tone. "Athos…"

Athos' reply was steady, brooking no argument. "Porthos."

He knew from experience that he had to focus solely on the task at hand, on the door, not on Porthos, nowhere near Porthos, because the moment he met those eyes the colour of sun-lightened soil then his anger would waver, and he didn't want that, he wanted to be angry, he didn't want to fall prey to those damn glorious eyes and that damn gorgeous grin and—

Athos looked.

The smile it earned him was infuriating, made him almost incandescent with rage, because it was so  _teasing,_ and  _familiar_ , and just  _fucking Porthos._

Slightly chapped lips parted as a cheek tugged upwards, teeth a taunting show as it turned to a grin that said,  _you ain't scarin' me._

Athos could, he could try, he could shove Porthos aside and have a knife to his throat in seconds, he could savour Porthos' defiant growl as he knelt at Athos' feet, but that would all depend on whether Porthos let him, depended on whether Athos meant it as anything other than play.

It depended on Athos knowing that Porthos could out-muscle him, could out-manoeuvre him, could even out-wit him at times.

It depended on Porthos knowing that Athos liked that, because no matter how angry, adrift, or absolutely despondent Athos became, Porthos would be there.

Right now, however, Athos hated that, and he itched to see if he could find that flash of fear even knowing he would hate himself for it afterwards.

All he had to do was reach for his knife, and yet he knew he would not,  _could_ not.

Athos froze when Porthos leaned forwards, nudging his way under Athos' stiff jaw, lips brushing across the swift thump of his jugular, fingers closing over his waist. The anger still stung, but it stung lower, hotter, and threatened to derail him entirely.

"Porthos, do not," Athos muttered through his teeth, hating when he lifted his chin fractionally but unable to stop himself.

Porthos' reply was husky against the sensitive skin under his ear. "Don't what?"

Athos didn't bother responding, Porthos would only twist his words and lure him into saying something that sounded flirtatious, as he always did, and Athos was determined not to be swayed by Porthos and his infuriating charms.

The breathy noise Athos made when Porthos sucked ever so lightly at his skin made him want to rail and rage, but his fingers simply curled in on themselves at his sides, his nails digging deep into his palms.

If he could just hold onto the anger this time, hold onto it and not let it dissolve like salt in water as it did whenever Porthos touched him, he was sure it would give him some measure of satisfaction – bitter even as it would be.

He was faltering, he knew he was, his chest was starting to heave and Porthos was holding him tighter, Athos' ire was disappearing with every reluctant flutter of his eyelids, every soft suck at his skin.

 _You always need me_ , played through his head, and he snarled just as Porthos turned them, pushing Athos' back against the door with a muted thump, the pressure forcing Athos' chin up and his hands into groping for purchase on gnarled wood.

"You need to relax, love," Porthos murmured against his throat, and when he smiled, his teeth caught at Athos' skin and had him gasping.

 

* * *

 

Athos was like a controlled strike of lightning, bright and dangerous and fascinating to look at even as it blinded you and left marks on your eyelids. Porthos could look at him every single day forever and it still wouldn't be enough.

Athos' muscles were always taut, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp, his tongue cutting, and Porthos loved every harsh inch of him, loved it more for how soft he could be.

There was no softness now, Athos was all angry angles and stubborn defiance, but Porthos loved that too, loved his bite and his bark and that superior fucking tilt of an eyebrow, as if he wasn't burning as hot as Porthos was, wasn't just as  _needy._

They both knew where the lines were, lines drawn in the dirt a long time ago and neither ever overstepped, they scrapped and snarled but each knew what to say to stop everything.

It was what made Athos' silence seem like rapturous applause or a chorus of heavenly angels, because for all Porthos could  _feel_ the fury under Athos' skin, still he stayed, stayed between Porthos and the door or whatever Porthos could push him against.

Athos was quick, Porthos had to use all his tricks.

It was allowance and not allowance, it was choosing to stay without saying so, because control was a fickle thing and they both liked holding it, which was where the struggle started, because they also liked the other one holding it over them.

It wasn't fun if there wasn't a scrap involved, that was Porthos' motto in life.

Athos' darkening eyes said,  _fine, try to convince me,_ whereas the tight line of his mouth said,  _you won't win._

It was Athos, sharp and soft, haughty and hungry, two sides of the same coin and Porthos liked playing it over his knuckles and watching it tumble end over end.

Porthos smiled at the unspoken challenge, even though he knew Athos would punish him for it.

Punishment was Athos tilting his head slightly and then launching from the stable door, palms against his shoulders and teeth on his neck. It wasn't a surprise inasmuch that Athos was always surprising him, but the sting of pain at his throat had Porthos' usually steady balance shifting. They were gone, falling into the hay, and immediately the struggle started.

Porthos could always pick out Athos' moments, the moment he remembered to be angry, the moment he forgot, the moment he decided that fighting Porthos was more fun than running from him.

This was the latter, and it was one of Porthos' favourites.

There was a slash of a smile on Athos' face now, one that widened when Porthos tried to flip them but couldn't get any purchase in the slippery strands of hay.

Athos edged his knees upwards, gifted with the upper-hand as they scrabbled for each other's wrists, Athos too swift and Porthos too strong for either of them to stay captured for any length of time.

Porthos pressed his feet against the floor, arching abruptly and throwing Athos off-balance. Porthos watched him wobble, watched those clever eyes widen as he fell forwards to brace his arms either side of Porthos' head where he could easily grab them, Athos' deceptively delicate-looking wrists caught in the thick bands of his fingers.

Porthos held him there as he leaned up to kiss him, their expressions reversed, Athos scowling and Porthos smiling. There was hay in his nose and Athos on his lips and the world was  _right_ , full of delights and desires and Athos a libidinous lash of lightning against his front.

Porthos arched again, but this time Athos was waiting and he thrust back, the buckle of his belt pushing between Porthos' legs. Their positions clicked, a euphoric grunt escaping Porthos' mouth before Athos caught it in a bruising kiss.

Porthos might have had Athos where he wanted him, but Athos still struck first, holding Porthos' lip between his teeth and laughing when Porthos groaned low and throaty.

"Arrogant prick."

There was something really fucking fond in that, and Athos gave a hiss of satisfaction.

It cut off brusquely when Porthos let his wrists go only to slide a hand between them and tug at Athos' belt, causing a very brief and very intense cease-fire.

Those clever eyes flicked to his, the heated darkness of them retreating momentarily to be replaced by doubt. "Here?"

At the slight tremor in that surprised question, Porthos grinned, his other hand settling on Athos' hip, where it belonged. "Why d'you think I locked the door?"

One eloquent eyebrow raised incredibly high, the hesitation in it obvious.

Porthos pressed his advantage, his fingers pressing somewhere else entirely, hot, tight leather pressing back. "You ain't scared, are you?"

That brow lowered so fast Porthos almost felt it, but then there were deft hands tugging on his jacket, on his buttons, on his shirt, and Porthos might have been impressed if he hadn't been doing the same thing to Athos, the two of them batting each other aside to try and win.

Athos bared Porthos' chest first, but Porthos had flung Athos' jacket aside and then started working on his breeches, managing to drag them halfway down his thighs before Athos realised what he was doing and widened his legs, effectively halting any progress.

"Cheat," Athos muttered, and Porthos found his grin very,  _very_  easy as he swiped his palms over smooth, pale skin that he knew from prior experience would redden under his touch, like a maiden that had never been kissed – and Athos really hated hearing that.

"Priorities, sweet."

Athos' fingers curved into the muscle of Porthos' chest just as Porthos' did into the muscle of Athos' arse cheeks, and the struggle started again – a tinge of desperation to it now, because Porthos was winning, and it felt like little nips of lightning at his fingertips.

Their laughs were short, sharp bursts of breath interspersed with hissed swear words and crude names, Porthos relishing every hitch and bitten off curse, watching Athos lose his composure inch by collected inch.

It turned into pissed off pride when Porthos finally managed to roll them and slotted his clothed erection against Athos' bare one, Athos' clever eyes closing before snapping open when he realised how fucked he was.

They fought, they always did, it was a last ditch attempt to exert some control before giving it up entirely to the other. This one was Porthos' game to win and they both knew it, even when Athos scratched and struggled, because there was still that lingering anger under Athos' skin.

Because Athos had tried to leave without him, and that wouldn't stand, it never did, just as Athos was always there when Porthos' temper reached boiling point and the nearest Guard was a threat too tasty to pass up.

Athos snarled and Porthos snarled back, taking the burn of nails on his biceps in exchange for capturing Athos' wrists in one, large hand, and holding them above his head.

Porthos placed his free fingers right at the dip of Athos' iliac furrow, and only when Athos stilled did Porthos meet his irate gaze with heavy lids and a complacent smile.

 _Mine_ tickled the tip of his tongue, and if he breathed it, it was rough with affection, with a possessiveness that was far beyond the sexual and went teeth-bared into heartfelt adoration.

It was the same  _mine_ that left Athos' lips when their roles were reversed, and it was the unspoken  _mine_ that had filled every single kiss since the first one they had shared.

This was them, Athos the silent flash of lightning and Porthos the loud rumble of thunder that followed after. It had been this way since the first time they had been paired together for a mission, Athos weaving words like a particularly brutal wind, and Porthos kicking heads like the steady ground that endured it.

It had been this way since the first time they had done this, after so many missions of Athos trying to remain withdrawn, struggling not to laugh at his incessant jokes, and Porthos hadn't pushed, he had waited, he had stood firm when Athos snapped, he had smiled when Athos snarled, and he had shivered when curiosity had finally led Athos to lift Porthos' chin with one, testing finger.

Then he had bitten it, and their breathless struggle had started.

Letting Athos have his way was easy,  _not_ letting him have it was fun.

Athos practically vibrated with the need to get at him – whether to tear him or torment him, he wasn't sure – so Porthos tightened his hold around bound wrists even as he climbed off and kept a heavy knee on Athos' thigh, yanking Athos' breeches down further.

Athos was still being a brat, presumably because Porthos was having no qualms in looking at him as if he was bared for his enjoyment, so Porthos placed a finger and a thumb either side of Athos' erection, his blunt nails resting on trembling abdominal muscles.

"Put your fuckin' legs together or there's gonna be trouble."

Athos twitched – everywhere – and when he ever so slightly did as he was told, Porthos rewarded him with an all-too-brief stroke before divesting him off his clothes completely. The shirt was still on, but Porthos wasn't risking letting him go to take it off.

Athos was still furious and Porthos wasn't going to give up his absolute favourite of Athos' moments for fucking anything – except, of course, Athos.

Athos shivered when Porthos sucked on his own finger, Athos tensed when Porthos wiggled his palm between Athos' thighs, and Athos strained when Porthos was within an inch of getting what he wanted.

"You're gonna make this fuckin' difficult for me, ain't you?" When Athos simply snarled like an exotic animal caught in a cage, Porthos gave him a grin full of teeth. "Good."

The second that Porthos let him go, Athos' hands flew to Porthos' shoulders to push him away, Athos' legs tensing to push himself away, fight and flight in every defined muscle. Porthos wrapped one set of fingers around Athos' cock, and when Athos couldn't help but lift off the floor to rut into his hand, Porthos worked a finger inside of him.

Here was his favourite moment.

A soft little cry left Athos' mouth and immediately everything slackened, he relaxed under Porthos' sigh, the fingers that had scored Porthos' skin were now a gentle pressure against the marks, soothing, stroking - but not sorry.

Athos knew how much Porthos liked them, liked the burn, liked the starkness of them as if they were forks on a night sky, how he relished the moments Athos rested his nails in the same place the next day, a memory and a mock-threat in one, just as Porthos would thumb the fingerprint bruises he left in captivatingly creamy skin.

It was like throwing a switch, all that tight aggression melting away to leave Porthos with his hands full of smooth pale skin and shuddering breaths, his fingers on the pulse – quite literally in this case, because there was a fluttering against Porthos' fingertip that soon clutched at his knuckle.

It was the calm before the storm, so Porthos indulged in every second he could squeeze out of the peace that softened Athos' angles, in the peace that only he could win, the peace that Athos gave him.

Porthos petted him, chuckling at the pointed look Athos gave when he started stroking his ribs rather than something more important. "Calm the fuck down an' tell me what 'appened."

Athos' head fell into the hay resignedly, canting his hips slightly to give Porthos better access even as he muttered, "The king offered a pardon."

Porthos paused in surprise, both at Athos' willingness to tell – it normally took a bit longer than this to work the truth out of him – but also at that revelation. "We're talkin' about the forger 'ere, right?"

Athos hummed, attention already arrowing somewhere else entirely, thumbs pushing into the flesh below Porthos' collarbone, dragging down his chest to try and distract him.

In retaliation, Porthos kept the pressure light, his palm sweeping down Athos' narrow waist to feel him quiver, crooking a finger just for the pleasure of hearing Athos' breathing hitch.

"Porthos," was said as a warning, and when Porthos added a second finger, there was another. "I sincerely hope this plan of yours included coming prepared."

Porthos' lewd laugh earned him a squeeze around his fingers, and damn it all if he didn't feel it everywhere, his own breathing halting slightly. "You know I love you pretendin' to be composed."

Athos had the gall to lift his head, and with it, an eloquent eyebrow. "Pretending—?"

Porthos licked a stripe right along one thick vein and grinned when Athos almost lifted off of the floor but for Porthos' hand held heavily over his stomach. "Yeah, pretendin'."

"Cheat," Athos hissed, and Porthos watched him struggling to fit his mask back, watched the sharp glint return to his eyes, and then he licked him again, and Athos growled, "Stop it!"

"You want me to stop?" Porthos asked, twisting his grip slightly, brushing something that made Athos' eyes squeeze shut. "Sure, I can stop."

"You are insufferable," Athos bit out, wincing slightly when Porthos tried to use a third.

At that, Porthos did stop, only to receive a blistering glare which made him chuckle. "I need to get the oil."

Athos waved an impatient hand. "Hurry up, then."

Porthos' grin was rueful, the swift beat of his heart somewhere between tender and tortured as he wanted to both fuck Athos into broken noises and hug him into rapturous silence.

"If I let go, are you gonna stay still?"

"I give you my word as a gentleman," Athos replied, his words neutral but his voice roughening, and Porthos very slowly lifted his fingers from Athos' stomach, careful to leave the others in that tight ring of muscle.

It gave Athos away.

Porthos had just about managed to open the bottle in his pocket and slick his free hand when he felt Athos tense around his fingers. The noise Athos made when they slipped out was bereaved, but it didn't stop him from pushing at Porthos' shoulder and sending them both toppling.

Athos straddled him and grabbed for his wrist just before his sticky hand could make contact with the dirty floor. "Careful now, I have a use for that."

Essentially disarmed from what was on his fingers, Porthos shifted uselessly in the hay. "You ain't no fuckin' gentleman!"

"I'm certainly not fucking one," Athos demurred, and when Porthos shivered at hearing coarse language in Athos' silky smooth voice, his smile was like that of a long-toothed predator.

Porthos snorted, hating and loving hearing his own brand of humour on Athos' tongue. "You gonna help me out 'ere?"

"It's the least I can do," Athos murmured, waiting for Porthos to settle comfortably between his thighs before making short work of Porthos' belt. "How did you know?"

Porthos' lip twitched at the slight irritation in a question not fully asked – and it asked so many things. "I know you."

Athos' attempt at an unimpressed look made Porthos mirror the almost smile, but it faded into a gulp of air when Athos' deft fingers closed around his erection and started to move, a more desperate one when Athos brought Porthos' slick fingers to his own and coated him in oil.

Athos paused in that way he had, the way a hound stilled at a scent on the breeze, and Porthos' breath left him in a rush when Athos leaned down to taste a pearl of liquid at his tip and hum interestedly.

Just like that, the tables turned, and Porthos very nearly gave up his carefully constructed plan as he wound his fingers in Athos' hair and dragged him upwards, tasting himself on Athos' tongue, feeling himself between Athos' thighs and wanting more, always more, because like fire that forked the sky, Athos was beautiful.

It was a battle, it always was, but it was part of a war they fought together.

"You need me," Porthos breathed, his hand squeezing the back of Athos' neck to make him push closer, "jus' as much as I need you."

There was the truth of it, the truth of every struggle and snarl over the years, because from the moment Athos had flashed him a look and Porthos had laughed low in his throat, they had been inseparable.

The smile that Athos gave him was small and sharp, belied by the warm palm that sought out Porthos' racing heart and made its claim there, his reply soft and secretive. "This,  _mon cœur,_  is my favourite moment."

Porthos held onto Athos' hips and arched, swallowing Athos' groan with his own as Athos sank down upon him, trembling thighs against his and hearing a whispered chorus of,  _mine, mine, mine,_ in every gasped breath that passed between them.

Their lips met, careful and content, Porthos laughing and Athos smirking, breathless and blissful in the calm before a storm they would weather together.

If Athos was the lightning, Porthos was the thunder, and one never came without the other.

**Author's Note:**

> A cup of tea and a slice of pun, please, I'll take it on [Tumblr](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com).


End file.
